


I See The Truth When I’m All Stupid-Eyed

by frackin_sweet



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drug Use, Drugged Sex, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1657085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frackin_sweet/pseuds/frackin_sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Fury had a little plan. It involved Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov doing drugs with the Winter Soldier. There is also sex and some crying, neither of which probably were part of the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See The Truth When I’m All Stupid-Eyed

**Author's Note:**

> Beta was done by Brenda, and she had some very helpful suggestions. That said, I'm guessing I have missed typos and have possibly abused the semicolon, and those and any other errors are all my own.
> 
> Title is from "A Perfect Drug" by Trent Reznor, 1996.
> 
> Also totally my own was that when this story was first posted yesterday, it was missing a significant portion, which someone helpfully pointed out to me via text. And, oops, I was already out of town, on my way to an area where I'd have no access to internet, so my only option at the time was to use my phone to delete it.
> 
> Here it is again, in its entirety. Please enjoy :) For those of you who kudos-ed and commented yesterday, thank you!

For four days they've had custody of the Winter Soldier, held in a completely unsecured (if very luxurious) hotel suite in Bangkok, Thailand.

They’re keeping him in one of the suite’s bedrooms, arms restrained by a set of specialized electromagnetic restraints that deactivate his cybernetic arm as well as putting him in a sort of seated hog-tie. Steve checks on him as often as he can. The most recent time, Steve removes the headphones so he can say some of the things on his mind, most of which is _I’m sorry_ and _I promise it’ll be okay_. When Natasha catches him doing it, she insists that she do the next check.

Natasha closes the door quietly behind her and turns to Steve, answering his unspoken question. “He’s still not saying anything. Trust me when I say he can sit there until the earth's crust cools. I know that because I could do the same thing." Natasha shrugs. "We’re running out of time. Fury said we have to be out of this hotel tomorrow.”

Steve doesn’t like the direction this may be taking. "I don't care. This is going to take as long as it takes. I’m not doing anything that might hurt or traumatize him. There’s been more than enough of that.”

The expected argument doesn't come, just a minute eye-roll. "You don’t hurt an agent you’re trying to turn, Rogers. Besides, even if we were going to try that option, it’s not like hurting him would work any better than treating him gently. Not with the level of dissociation and pain tolerance we're talking about here." Her burner phone vibrates on the desk, and she glances down at it. "Fury's on his way up.”

“Did it go well?” Nick Fury had been a little shifty about what, exactly, this meeting entailed - all Steve knew was that he’d left with bag full of cash.

“He didn’t say.”Natasha walks over to survey the well-stocked bar cabinet. She selects a bottle and pours for herself.

"You're not even going to ask?"

"Okay, sure. You want one?" She gets out another glass. Steve lets her pour him a couple of fingers, and he's holding the drink when Fury lets himself in. The whole situation is ridiculous. They're off the grid in Thailand, with the number one ghost assassin in the world held captive in the next room, and Natasha pouring him a drink he’s not slightly interested in. All in a day’s work.

Fury lets himself into the suite. He raises an eyebrow as he sets a briefcase down on the table, next to the arrangement of exotic orchids. "Why am I always late to the party?" He clicks the case open, starts removing items.

Steve actually forgets to forget his drink when he sees the contents. The alcohol blazes down his throat. "What the hell is _that_?"

Natasha smiles and accepts what Fury hands to her. "That," she smiles, letting the late afternoon sunlight slant through the pale blue liquid inside the syringe. "Is what we just blew Tony Stark’s wad on."

“Well, that was an unexpected metaphor. Will someone please elaborate?”

Fury removes another syringe from the molded foam inside the case. "Just so you know, I wasn’t kidding about tomorrow. Word is that our false trail’s been busted. We need to make tracks." His lip curls downward. "Hope you two haven't been hitting the bar too hard. That'll screw with the test."

Steve lets his glass clatter to the table and halts Natasha's response with a warning hand. "Explain. Right the hell now. What is that, and what are you testing. And on _whom_?”

Fury takes off his glasses so he can give them both a proper eyeing-up of disbelief and irritation as he addresses Natasha. "Thought you were going to brief him while I was out."

"Well, I would have, but he pretty much sits in there with Barnes’s head in his lap. I do believe they're communing telepathically at this point." Her voice doesn’t quite clear the sarcasm threshold.

"Listen, Romanov, I haven't touched him, and he seems calmer when I'm in there, so -" Steve bites off the words around the metallic taste of the adrenaline surge. "You two can just take your bootleg sodium pentothal and _back off_."

"Do I need to remind anyone that I just paid the Triad the entire amount Stark fronted us? I don't have enough left to get into a karaoke bar! I'm not talking flying-home-in-coach-broke! I'm talking stowing-away-on-a-rat-infested-container-ship broke! So shut up, sit down, and let's figure out how this is going to work!"

Steve glares at Natasha, and to her credit she looks a little subdued. By Fury, though, not him. They both slowly sit at either end of the plush sofa.

Fury addresses Steve. "Here’s the short version. This," he finally hands the second syringe to Steve. "Is Alypentrazine. It is a psychoactive drug developed by the most brilliant chemist in the world. It is not legal. Not anywhere. Nor would it be even if it had been officially tested."

None of this sounds good, but at least he's getting information now. "What’s it do?"

"Well, I'll skip the chemistry mumbo-jumbo because even if you'd understand it, I sure as hell don't, so...it inhibits serotonin and dopamine reuptake, but it also has a simulated neurotransmitter component that bonds to the dopamine and serotonin in the subjects system. In layman's terms, it makes better use of what's already there."

"Makes you happy, keeps you happy," Natasha adds.

“And more talkative and open to suggestion. Among other things.” Fury adds.

“What other things?” Steve can’t believe that Natasha seems satisfied with this explanation.

“Alypentrazine was designed to be taken in communion with other people. Like I said, it bonds to the user’s neurotransmitters. As it’s metabolized, it emits a...I’m not sure about the translation, but I think he said that when people take it together, there can be some sort of shared emotional response. It ramps up the production of bonding hormones. Damn, Rogers, I’d fly in an expert to explain it to you but I am ass-broke, okay?”

“So. We’re all taking this...Alypentrazine?” Steve eyes the syringe. He’s had more than enough experience with chemical substances going into his veins, thanks. 

“Not me. Someone has to stay straight and run this carnival. So we’re going to test it on you and Natasha, and then you’re going to give it to Barnes.”

“Is that safe?”

Fury shrugs. "Like I said, there's been no formal testing. As far as we know, it hasn't killed anyone yet."

Just to hear Fury sound that unsure is enough to make Steve's blood boil again, but somehow, it doesn't. All he can think is "makes you happy, keeps you happy", and “bonding hormones” and how he still feels when he looks at Bucky, even bound and blindfolded and basically a stranger.

The possibility of being able to reach his best friend makes Steve’s mind up for him.

Fury is still unrolling rubber surgical tubing as Steve gives himself the injection, and then shrugs as he discards the syringe. "What? I have good veins."

Natasha wraps the tubing around her bicep and clenches her fist a few times. "Nobody is arguing with that." She doesn't even blink as she injects herself.

Fury just shakes his head. "Well, now that you two just slammed $500,000 of Tony Stark's money into your veins, I suppose any words of caution are moot, but -" he pauses for effect. "How many drinks did you have?"

"One each. I have high tolerance and Rogers is himself, so...next question? Is this stuff even going to work on him?"

“Word is that it will.” Fury hands over what looks like a grade school composition book, and a pencil. "Since we're being all low-tech and off the grid, you both need to record your reactions. Timestamp each one, every 30 minutes, starting with, " he consults his watch. "1630 hours."

Natasha looks at the book like she'd rather chew glass. "I have bad handwriting."

Steve rolls his eyes and takes the book and pencil. "When can we expect to feel something?"

"What, you not happy yet, Rogers?" Fury snarks, then gets serious. "With your metabolism, you should probably make your notes every 5 minutes. You're going to be our baseline for how the drug will act on Barnes, since I'm guessing his reactions will be more similar to yours." He nods at Natasha. "And you're our control for a normal person."

Steve snorts. "Which she is very much not."

"You’re just mad because I said you had Barnes' head in your lap."

"I’m only pointing it out."

Natasha points at the composition book. "First notation, 1631, Steve is getting sassy."

Steve ignores her and starts measuring off columns on the pages for Natasha and himself, and rows for the check-in times. He spends a lot of time at it, and by the time Natasha points out that ten minutes have passed, he has made double, pencilled-in column and row dividers.

"Okay, that's a thing there, that you're doing," she remarks over his shoulder. "Write down "noticeable increase in obsessive coloring."

Steve waves her off and finishes erasing a stray mark before writing _No significant physiological effects_ in the "Rogers, 1645" box. He pauses before adding _Some increase in concentration noted_. Then he looks up. "Where's Fury?"

Natasha nods towards the suite door. "Checking on Barnes. Don't worry, he left the syringe."

Steve starts tapping the pencil on the page, and then when it starts to sound extremely loud to his ears, he makes note of that fact, and then starts sketching Natasha on a different page.

She leans over to look. "That is...do I really look like that?" She swallows twice. "Wow, I'm thirsty. Mark that down."

"Get water, not booze." Steve writes down what she just said, and then alters the line of her throat in the drawing and looks at it critically. "This is how you look to me. I gave you more of a smile - you usually do a kind of Mona Lisa one."

She sits back down with two bottles of water from the bar fridge and sits down close to him. "Huh. You think I'm pretty, Steve?"

Steve thinks about it; or rather, he's thinking about how to answer that respectfully. "I'm sure anyone would think you're pretty."

"Oh, that is a terrible answer, what is wrong with you?"

"Fine." Steve turns to look at her, and is surprised to see a faint flush along the collar of her jacket, and sugar-fine beads of perspiration silvering the indentation above her top lip. "You're very pretty. Lovely. Enigmatic. You could probably make anyone believe you're the most beautiful woman in the world."

"I'm hot."

"You're very hot."

"No, I mean," Natasha stands abruptly and strips off her jacket. "I'm _hot_. And kind of...itchy."

"Oo-kay, hold on, I need to note that." Steve puts _elevated temperature, flushing reaction_ in the "Romanov" box. Then he looks at her again, as she paces behind the couch and fans herself with her hand. "Here, drink your water."

She tips up the bottle and drains half of it in long swallows. "Okay, this is officially happening. I'm coming up."

The pencil hovers. "You're what?"

Natasha blows out a breath through pursed lips, sending a lock of hair upward. "The drug is having a noticeable effect on me." Just as abruptly as she stood, she sits, this time almost on his knee.

He scoots over on the couch a bit. "Wow you are hot. Really warm, I mean. I can feel it radiating off you."

She scoots closer to him again. "It's uncomfortable. Rub my neck."

She twists the hair off her nape so he can, and as Fury walks back into the room she is humming under her breath, huffing a little each time Steves digs his fingers in.

"Well, that's new," Fury remarks. "How are we feeling?"

Steve rakes his other hand through his hair. "Okay, now I'm hot too. According to Natasha, we're 'coming up'. It's not entirely pleasant. Muscle spasms, that sort of thing."

"Less talk, more rub, Rogers."

"Yes, Ma'am." Steve hates it when he just kind of responds to her automatically that way. It's embarrassing.

Fury puts his glasses back on, and it helps Steve feel less...observed, somehow. "I was told the flushing and increased temperature are very common. As is the muscle tension. You probably both feel pretty jumpy."

"And thirsty?" Steve notices that they've both drained their water bottles even though he doesn't remember doing it. "I feel a little bit compromised right now," he says uneasily.

Fury sits down in a chair across the room with a drink of his own that is very much not water. "I'm told that's also normal. Give it a little more time."

"I think Natasha is pretty damn beautiful. And pretty." The words are out of Steve's mouth before he can even think...well, he does think it's true, so. Why not say it, right?

"I want to take off my shirt," Natasha adds, one hand pressed to her chest as though she hopes to slow her breathing that way. "I'm not going to, but I just kind of needed to say that."

Fury crosses one booted ankle over his knee in a way that looks incredibly patient. "Make notes of all of it."

Natasha turns in a way that puts her cleavage on Steve's arm. "I respect you so much," he tells her, because respect is important when her breasts are very much invading his personal space.

She grabs the notebook. "I need my own sheets of paper." She tears a few out. "Look at this!" She holds the sheet with the drawing in an accusatory fist, shaking it towards Fury. "Steve drew me! I look like Helen of fucking Troy or something!" She crumples the paper and slaps her hand over trembling lips. "Oh, goddamnit! Steve. You jerk."

Ok, this is if Natasha is about to weep like Rose in Titanic (one of Steve's favorite movies, in fact, now he's thinking about Jack and Rose and Jack freezing to death and Bucky falling and _I'll never let go and SHIT GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF ROGERS)_. "Natasha. It's okay, I'm sorry I drew you. Breathe. It's okay."

She listens, and they spend a minute or two just breathing in tandem until she finally nods. "I'm going to...sit over there." She points to the other end of the couch. "And make my notes."

A few minutes later, Steve glances at her paper, and all she has is NICK I'M SORRY and a few lines below that, I AM HORNY. Four times. In all caps. She just shrugs apologetically as Steve gently disengages the paper from her fingers.

"Um, Fury?" he says. He holds up the paper where she can’t see it and mouths _what do we do now_?

Fury has the balls to actually be ignoring them and reading a file. He just nods. "Just keep making notes. You've probably got another half-hour of this, if those bastards weren't lying about the side effects and you're not both about to go into cardiac arrest."

Steve takes his pulse. Natasha gets up and paces again, scratching at her skin absently and single-word answering Steve's questions so he can continue to make notes.

And sure enough, Steve starts to feel better. Easier. He gets Natasha more water, and a towel, and lets her squeeze his hand a couple of times. Once, because it just seems like the right thing to do, he puts his arm around her, and she leans against him.

And he's sure of it now. _This is going to work. It's all going to be fine._

"Okay." Natasha says finally. "You were right. It's better." And she smiles, a real smile, even nicer and warmer than the one Steve drew her with.

Steve grins back. "You still horny, then?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's manageable. But since you asked, yes."

Okay, he's blushing but who really cares. "Me too."

"Well, we're both professionals, right? We'll work around it." She nods to Fury. "So. How much longer 'til we dose Barnes with the happy juice?"

Now Fury is looking at them like he thinks he might have made a grave error in judgement, but nevertheless he sits down at the table with them and works out the strategy.

In addition to the logistical details like who is good-copping and/or bad-copping and who can or can’t say what, there has to be a rather involved discussion about consent, because Steve is still uncomfortable (to the degree that he can feel anything other than calm and happy) about the thought of giving Bucky the drug. "I don't want to force this on him. That's all people have been doing to him for 75 years now."

"This isn't the same."

"Isn't it?"

Natasha looks across the table at Steve. "No," she says gently. "We would give him the choice if we could, okay? We’re trying to help him."

Steve locks eyes with her across the table, and after a long moment, nods. "I have a feeling that our wonder drug is making me a little more agreeable, but...I'm desperate. This is for my friend. Not for SHIELD, not for anything or anybody else."

Fury makes a disgusted little sound. "Okay, dial down the intensity a little bit, you two, you're makin' me feel all awkward and I don't do awkward." He scans the sheet of notes again. "Within an hour of the injection, he should be to the point where he can talk to you usefully. Do not underestimate his threat potential, even when the drug starts taking effect. He can probably simulate calm and peaceful if he wants to. In other words, I highly recommend that you leave the restraints on.”

Steve waves a hand, because that is just silly. Restraints, ha. “That probably won’t be necessary. Once he’s got the drug in him he’s not going to be thinking about killing people or leaving or whatever.”

“You’re sure about that?” Fury’s voice is flat.

Steve nudges Natasha’s foot. “Hey Natasha? What are you thinking about right now?”

“Um. Cupcakes. And like, the beach. Nude beaches. Because Steve and I should probably be nude at some point, on a beach.” Steve makes a little prompting motion, and she adds “Definitely not all the ways I know how to kill somebody. Obviously.”

Steve tries not to give Fury a smug look. “I think we’ll be okay without the restraints.”

Fury doesn’t answer for a long time, but finally he fits a tiny receiver into his ear. “Room’s wired for sound. I’ll be listening. Don’t make me come in there.”

Steve takes the third syringe in hand, and Natasha's hand in his other one. "Okay then. Let's do this."

Inside the dim room, Bucky is barefoot and motionless. He’s propped up in a seated position with his back against the foot of the bed, head down. A blindfold obscures his sight, and the headphones block his hearing.

As they watch, he becomes visibly aware of them. First his head lifts, and then a muscle in his jaw twitches, and his shoulders flex against the restraints.

Steve bends down first, and puts a hand on Bucky's arm, the right one. It feels as hard as the metal one, just warmer. He leaves his hand there while Natasha gently removes the headphones.

"Hey, Buck," Steve says. "It's Steve." They agreed before coming in that he would do the talking, at least at first. He's a better good cop than Natasha is, anyhow.

She removes the blindfold next, and the whites of Bucky's eyes gleam, but he's still managing to stay still and expressionless. He looks straight ahead for several seconds, until Steve says, "Buck," one more time.

Bucky makes a noise as though he's trying to respond, and Steve realizes with a pang that they've not given him water for awhile. Natasha responds to his nod and uncaps the bottle of water she's carrying. Steve holds it so Bucky can drink, and he swallows so hard that his lips don't keep their seal on the bottle and some of it goes down his chin.

"You're a crappy nurse," Natasha comments, and Bucky pulls away from the water. His eyes fix on her face, then Steve's.

"So who's your partner," Bucky's voice is hoarse. "Steve."

The way he says the name hurts, a lot - it’s not how you say a friend’s name, but Steve ignores it. He and Natasha had run through how they thought this would go before coming in, and he managed to convince her that they both needed to try to be as unthreatening as possible. Asking for trust was too much, but they can seem harmless, and build from there, until the needle goes in. After that, a different set of rules will apply.

Steve inclines his head towards Natasha. “James Buchanan Barnes, Jr - Natasha Romanov.”

Bucky eyes her for awhile. “Do we - know each other, too?”

Natasha fields it immediately and doesn’t elaborate. “Yes.”

“I’m going to turn on a light,” Steve says, more as a warning to Bucky than anything. When he does it, Bucky’s eyelids shutter for a moment. “I don’t remember,” he finally says to Natasha.

“That’s okay.”

Steve realizes he and Natasha have been standing with their arms pressed together, kind of like a united front - which they are, he supposes. And he remembers what the next step has got to to be. 

It’s a good thing he’s quick. There’s no way to go for an intravenous injection, so while Bucky is still focused on Natasha, Steve punches the needle into the dense muscle between neck and shoulder. Lightning-fast, Bucky twists and Steve is just glad the needle doesn’t break before he can pull it out. He and Natasha both step back as Bucky writhes, cursing them in a couple of languages.

“Sorry about that - I had to do it fast,” Steve apologizes. “You should start feeling it in about - “ he glances at Natasha.

“Half an hour, or a little more,” she addresses Bucky, who is thrashing around between them so hard they both have to retreat and just let him do it.

“Bastard! _Вы гребаный мудак!_ ” Bucky’s head snaps towards Steve, and Steve feels immediate remorse. The words are full of murderous intent, but Bucky’s eyes are all darting, blood-threaded whites. “The fuck did you shoot me up with?” The muscles of his chest and shoulders cord with veins as he struggles against the restraints. “I will get out of this and kill both of you, and that one-eyed motherfucker too.”

Steve can’t help himself, he puts a hand on Bucky’s head, even as Bucky tries to evade his touch. “It’s a drug called Alypentrazine. Natasha and I both took it as well.”

Bucky manages to get his feet underneath him, but with the way the restraints work he can’t straighten or stand, so he continues to flail until he connects with Steve’s ankle with both bare feet. 

You have to try to relax a little, Buck,” Steve says. “It’ll be okay, I promise. We’re not going to do anything that hurts. You’re not going to wake up somewhere else and not remember this.”

“You’re gonna wish I didn’t remember it, you shit.” Bucky contains himself a little, making an obvious effort to stuff down whatever panic had overtaken him after the injection. Steve and Natasha both watch him use a method of measured, slower breathing. He stops reacting to them, too, withdrawing into himself with intense focus.

“How long has it been?” Steve asks softly, not taking his eyes off Bucky. He knows that look, remembers it. It’s the look of preparing to go into a firefight. He’s worn it himself.

“Three minutes. Be patient.” She leans against Steve again, and he can feel her concern thrumming through the contact of her skin, or at least he thinks he can. “He did us a favor by getting so angry at first. Probably got the drug circulating through his bloodstream faster. That’s what he’s trying to stave off now - any effects that might cloud his reasoning.”

Steve lets his fingers brush hers. “I still feel pretty reasonable.”

“Yeah, me too, but he doesn’t know what to expect. And he’s going to feel a little bit shitty before he feels better, if you remember.”

“Yeah.”

They watch as Bucky progressively relaxes his body until he’s lying on his side on the carpet. He seems to be concentrating, forcing his way past dread and panic by sheer force of will, a sharp talent no doubt honed by years of conditioning.

Natasha takes Steve’s hand again where they sit beside each other, and after a moment, Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s bare foot. He’s rewarded with little more than a twitch.

“Buck.”

No response. Steve leans forward to look closer. “You think he’s okay?”

“Yeah.” Natasha nods, checking her watch. “Wow, more time passed than I thought. Explain to him what he’ll be feeling. It’s not going to take much longer.”

“Buck? You’re gonna feel the drug kick in hard, pretty soon. May get a little uncomfortable before it settles down, okay?” Steve still doesn’t get a response, so he looks over at Natasha. “You bring more water?”

“Water, a towel, a blanket. Your magic massage fingers.” She smiles. “We’re good.”

He smiles back. “I didn’t think that was helping you.”

“Don’t be dumb. I was all clenchy and jittery. It totally helped.”

A few minutes pass, and as they watch, Bucky seems start having trouble controlling his reactions. There’s a tremor, then another, and some faster breathing.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asks.

There’s no answer for awhile, until Bucky says “Yeah. Shot up with some interrogation drug.” Deep breath. “Tied up in a hotel room. I’m great.” Deep breath. “I love this. It’s like a vacation.”

“Well, we did spring for the presidential suite,” Natasha says.

“That was really pretty talkative, for him. I think it’s working.” Steve gives Bucky’s foot a bit of a squeeze, and doesn’t even get kicked. Progress. “How do you feel, Buck?”

Bucky forgets that his hands are restrained behind his back and rolls over on them, before cursing and rolling back. “Shut up.”

A few minutes later the shakes start in earnest, and Steve and Natasha move closer, to positions on either side of Bucky, bracing him as much as he’ll allow. “ ‘S a fuckin’ sauna in here, you sadists,” he pants. 

“Yeah, no, that’s just you being hot.” Natasha produces an elastic out of her pants pocket and has Bucky’s hair off his face before he can even try to dodge her hands. “Better?”

Bucky is trembling; minute, almost-controlled tremors that seem to move through him in waves, subside, and start again. He gives Natasha a look, and then eyes the water bottle Steve’s holding before looking away, muttering something about drugs and intelligence agencies and murder. 

With Natasha’s careful help, they get him to a sitting position, leaning against the side of the bed, between the two of them. Steve holds the water bottle for him, and has to pull it away when Bucky drinks so fast he almost chokes. “Slow down. You can have as much as you need.”

Every time Bucky tries to stop the trembling, his teeth clench. “This is. Worst. Interrogation. You two. Are assholes.”

“It’s not an interrogation. You don’t have to answer any questions.” Steve reassures him. Bucky goes off in a string of Russian with a few English words mixed in, and when Natasha laughs he stutters at her to fuck off.

“What’d he say?” Steve is rubbing Bucky’s arm the same way he’d pet a skittish dog, slowly and gently. 

Natasha smiles. “Didn’t you hear the word ‘Viagra’ in there?”

Steve suddenly can’t stop laughing. “Oh, I can tell you from experience that’s a normal side effect of the drug. It sort of wears off.” He shifts and his pants tug uncomfortably. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t.”

Natasha is laughing now too, and she’s mirroring Steve’s petting motions on Bucky’s other side.

“Jesus god, stop touching me!” he finally growls. He elbows Natasha clumsily, and then overbalances and lands more or less in Steve’s lap. “What the hell did you inject me with? Can’t...ugh. _Push me back up_.”

He sounds so grumpy about it that Steve immediately puts him back into a sitting position, and this time crouches in front of him. He tries not to find the indignant look on Bucky’s face adorable. “Buck. I told you. Alypentrazine. It’s like...highly illegal designer serotonin something or other. I’m not a chemist, you know?”

“No, he’s an artist!” Natasha chooses this moment to interrupt and pull the sketch from earlier out of another pocket. She smoothes it out in front of Bucky with something like pride. “He drew me earlier.”

Steve looks at her. “Sorry it made you cry.”

She flaps a hand at him. “It didn’t. That was the drugs.” She zeroes in on Bucky again. “Just so you know, if you feel like you might cry? That’s normal. We totally won’t judge.”

But Bucky is still staring at the sketch. “You drew that.” Eventually his eyes go soft and unfocused. “You draw.”

Steve stops breathing for a second before answering. “I did. I do.”

Just like that, they’ve broken some sort of barrier. Bucky seems to relax a little, and then the shakes redouble in force. He closes his eyes and swallows a couple of times. “How long is this gonna take?”

Steve leans closer. “What, the shaky stuff? Should be almost over.” He worms a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck. “Whoa. Easy. Just breathe.” He has never felt such bowstring tension in human muscles in his life, so he’s careful. He smoothes his thumb up that long column of muscle next to the knobs of Bucky’s spine, up into the sweaty hair at the base of his skull. 

The realization that he wants to do this all over, touch and smooth his hands over Bucky’s skin until the shakes dissipate and the muscles relax is something that he just lets wash over him. It’s not really news. That feeling has been there a long, long time, just tucked under other, more easily-categorized ones.

Bucky just lets Steve give him that gentle working-over; he doesn’t resist, doesn’t talk. Natasha braces him carefully against Steve, with one hand on his shoulder, and one on his thigh.

Slowly, they feel Bucky’s tension unspool. They’re all touching and it even seems as though they’re breathing in sync. 

Natasha is the one who breaks the moment. “You can see down my top, can’t you.” She’s addressing Steve, but Bucky’s eyes pop open.

Steve is about to confirm her suspicion because, well, obviously, when she chuckles. “Well. Human after all, see?” She dips her head to get in Bucky’s eyeline. “Eyes up here, fella.”

“Wasn’t lookin’,” he responds, and closes his eyes again. 

“Sure. You just keep telling yourself that.” Natasha holds out her fist for Steve to bump. “I think we’ve officially made a breakthrough. That was some normal human behavior.”

Steve turns back to Bucky. “Hey, Buck, you feel any better? The weird-shaky-hot-panicky stuff getting better?”

Bucky doesn’t open his eyes. “A little.”

Steve goes back to his earlier petting. At least Bucky isn’t cussing him for doing it anymore.

Natasha holds the bottle for Bucky to drink and wipes his mouth for him afterward. His eyes open again, pupils huge and ink-black. “What is...what is _wrong_ with you two?”

Steve grins. “Happy drugs! Isn’t it great?”

“I am hallucinating. This is not real.”

“Oh, please. You men and your drama.” Natasha gets up. “This is reality, James...I’m going to call you that, because Steve calls you Bucky and you like, well...you’ve known each other longer and I don’t want to presume. But anyhow…” She wrinkles her nose at Steve. “He reeks. I think we shouldn’t have kept him in here for four days with minimal provisions for hygiene.”

“He could shower,” Steve suggests.

Bucky makes an irritated sound. “I’m in the room, idiots.” He leans forward. “You gonna help me out? Can’t do much with my hands behind my back.”

The restraints. Steve looks at Natasha. “We talked about this, right?”

She considers. “We did. I think they should stay on a little longer, but...in the end, it’s up to you.”

Steve looks at her, and then at Bucky, whose eyes don’t show much in the way of recognition, but they don’t show hatred or murder, either. They show something like _hurry up and make a decision, you punk_.

Steve gets the keys and unlocks all of the mechanisms. “Please don’t...do anything, okay? I trust you to just...you know. Please.”

“Nobody ever tell you trust is a drawback in your line of work?” Bucky makes no sudden moves, he just rotates his wrists. The right one, then the left. It’s amazing how much it moves like the real thing, smoothly. And soundlessly, whereas the right one clicks a little from a tetchy joint or tight tendon. 

“Actually, yeah, I’ve heard that before.” Steve gets to his feet and leans down. “How about you try standing up?”

Bucky is unsteady on his feet, so he hangs onto Steve until he can stand unassisted. He’s a mess - dirty, bloody, and yes, he does smell pretty bad, not that Steve really cares. Much. “So. About that shower…”

“I’m guessing I don’t get to do it without company?”

“Nope!” Natasha chirps. “Can’t have you alone in a slippery shower when you’re all shaky. Steve can help you.”

Steve gives her a look and steers Bucky towards the bathroom before he can tell her off again. “I’m uh...sorry about this. The forced-march thing I’m doing. I don’t mean to make you feel like -”

Bucky turns and actually looks, focuses on Steve’s face. “Look. Since you seem to care about how you make me _feel_ , or whatever, cut it out with the apologizing. I’m your prisoner, I’m high on junk and you’re about to give me a sponge bath. Just do your job, okay?”

Steve is momentarily taken aback at the articulateness of the request. The drug is doing its work. “Okay. But you have to promise me that if something is happening that you don’t like, you have to tell me. And I’ll make it not happen anymore.” This is perhaps Steve’s greatest wish, and greatest regret, of the last 75 years.

“Whatever.” Bucky clumsily gets out of his shirt and pants, shrugging off Steve’s assistance. Once he’s naked, he stops and just stares at Steve. Who stares back, because...well, where else is he going to look? And the way his brain is working, there’s no compunction to act like he’s not looking, or doesn’t want to look. Belatedly he realizes how creepy that might seem and turns around.

“I’m going to leave this part to you two,” Natasha says, handing over little bottles of soap and shampoo. She catches something in the expression on Steve’s face. “You okay?”

There’s something very comforting about her concern. “Yeah. I’m thinking some food might be a good idea. You want to order something?”

She nods “Good idea, if I’m starving you must be having a metabolic crisis. I’ll handle it.” She drops a pile of towels on the vanity and leaves them alone.

The huge bathroom has been wasted so far, with all of its stone tiles and frosted glass and polished fixtures. The rainforest-sized shower is perfect for two, and quickly fills the room with steam.

The sheeting hush from the multiple shower heads is the only sound as soap bubbles dwindle down the drain. Bucky tilts his head back and lets water stream over his face. He doesn’t move for a very long time until finally he raises both hands and presses his fingers against his closed eyes.

So the crying thing is happening. Steve isn’t entirely sure it’s the fault of the Alypentrazine that he’s so close to tears himself. He pours out a palmful of shampoo and smooths his hands gently over Bucky’s head. Steve scrapes his fingers carefully through the water-soaked weight of Bucky’s hair, coaxing the tangles out. And Bucky lets him. When Steve uses his nails Bucky makes a little _nngh_ noise, and Steve stops his hands.

“No - do that again.”

So that was a positive noise. Steve does it again, several times, and it allows him to notice exactly how far Bucky’s allowed him into his personal space. Their bodies touch at several points of intersection - shoulder to chest, arm to back, buttocks to groin. It has a quality that is more watercolor erotic than sexual, softened and slowed by the cascade of warm water and soap. 

When Bucky finally ducks out from under the stream of water, Steve reaches over and frees a thick strand of hair that has gotten stuck in the scruff of his beard. It occurs to him that in some very messed up alternate reality where this would be a movie scene, the next logical thing to do would be to lean in. Bucky’s head tilts, and his lips part, and -

“I want to shave.” his voice suddenly breaks the silence, and Steve drops the bottle of shampoo. Okay, so maybe he was reading that wrong.

“Um.” Natasha returns to poke her head into the shower and look at Steve. The loss of the restraints were one thing. But Bucky, even drugged-Bucky, with a razor is enough to give anybody pause. “I found some stuff for that, if...yeah. Again. Up to you.”

Steve picks up the plastic razor. “Can you really do much damage with one of these?”

Natasha hauls a chair across the bathroom tile. “I can, so I guarantee he can too. But we’re kind of past the point of getting all worked up about it.” She gets Bucky wrapped in a towel and replaces the elastic from earlier in his wet hair. “We can deal with this later, if you want,” she offers. “But right now, Steve’s going to give you a shave. That work for you?”

Bucky looks at the razor, then at Steve, and Steve recognizes that unimpressed expression with a surge of joy. “Yeah.”

She leaves again, and Steve holds up the can of shaving lather. “You want to do this part?”

Bucky holds out a hand, and Steve fills up his palm with the rich lather. Bucky applies it, eyes on Steve the whole time, and then, very pointedly tips his head back.

Steve takes a deep breath. He steadies his hand with fingertips along Bucky’s jaw, and starts on the left side of his face. “Thank you for trusting me to do this,” he says.

Bucky waits until he pulls the razor away before replying. “I’m in no condition to do anything about it.”

Steve continues his careful work with the razor - he has to rinse it every few strokes. “Never could have imagined you with a beard,” he comments, and then freezes, realizing that he has just violated one of his and Natasha’s agreements from earlier - no talking about Steve’s and Bucky’s shared past. Too many landmines.

Steve watches Bucky’s throat move on a hard swallow. He doesn’t speak, so Steve doesn’t either. He makes the strokes over Bucky’s adam’s apple very precise, then hands over a towel. “There. See how that looks.”

“It’s better.” Bucky gives himself barely a glance before answering. “What do you think?”

Steve regards him and flicks off a bit of missed shaving foam with his finger. “You look good.” He watches Bucky stand up, and then reaches out to steady him when he sways a little. “Hey, slow down. You’re on drugs, remember?”

“Not likely to forget.” Bucky pauses until his unsteadiness passes. Outside the bathroom, Natasha’s selections of food have arrived, and she is sitting cross-legged on the bed in her underwear, surveying the contents of the plates. 

Steve’s glad to note he’s not the only one who does a double-take. For some reason he wouldn’t have expected her to go in for girly underthings. Pink, even. The way she’s shoveling fruit into her mouth doesn’t even spoil the effect.

“What?” she asks in response to their stares. “James was right, it’s hot in here.”

Bucky kind of shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “So when is the bad stuff going to start happening? Because that’s the play, right? Clean me up, feed me, parade pretty people around half-naked, and then _wham_ , torture, or something?”

“God, no,” Natasha says around a mouthful, and then addresses Steve. “You know, this drug we paid all that money for? Is shit. I can’t remember anything we’re supposed to be doing. So you boys might as well sit down and eat.” She points a watermelon rind accusingly at Bucky. “And you...for the last hour we’ve given you no reason to believe we’re not going to be perfectly nice to you. So give us a little credit.”

Steve wishes he could keep a picture of Bucky’s face after that, the way his jaw just kind of falls open and he looks a little stupid. Steve pokes him gently. “You heard her. Better for all of us if you just do it.”

Bucky doesn’t even bother with a chair, he just gets on the bed across from Natasha and claims one of the plates. 

Natasha hands him chopsticks and he looks at her. “Really?”

She shrugs. “Figured you didn’t want to eat with your fingers.”

“Right now I don’t care.” Bucky snags some papaya off the fruit plate before digging into whatever entree he has in front of him.

Steve hauls a chair over for himself, looking skeptical as Natasha ticks off their choices. “Okay, so I got pineapple, watermelon, and - well, move fast or someone’s going to eat all the papaya,” she says as Bucky grabs more. “Soft-shelled crab, prawns with lemongrass, eggplant with sweet basil and lime, tom kai gai, yum nua, and mango sticky rice.”

Bucky shoves an entire crab into his mouth. “These are disgusting. I can’t stop eating them.”

Steve pokes what he is pretty sure is a prawn. “If I can’t pronounce it, I’m not eating it.”

“Philistines.” She taps a fingernail against one of the plate covers. “That’s steak - medium-rare - and fries. How well I know you, Rogers.”

God Bless Thailand, because they even have ketchup. As soon as Steve has the cover off his food, Bucky goes for some of the fries, and Steve lets him, once. After that he dodges the grabs as well as he can. He even tries some of the noodly stuff, after both Bucky and Natasha declare it delicious.

The conversation remains, well...weird. Kind of stilted on Bucky’s end, of course, because he seems like he’s still making an attempt - if a futile one - to not engage with them. And yet then he chimes in with non-sequiturs and the occasional half-baked insult. And after a couple of those, an apology, particularly to Natasha when he makes a reference to melons that has nothing to do with what she’s eating.

Fortunately, she takes it well. Very well, in fact - she laughs so hard she falls over backwards on the bed, her entire body shaking, and then she half-chokes on her food and Steve is up and ready to perform the Heimlich maneuver until she gags “Aack, I’m okay, don’t!” He ends up with her sort of draped across his lap in case she needs further intervention, and at that point they give up on the food.

“So. You two are - “ Bucky makes a universal hand gesture, and then actually blushes, which is adorable and disturbing at the same time. “Sorry.”

Natasha hauls herself up with an arm around Steve’s neck. “Sleeping together? No. I mean…” she looks at him. 

“Not for lack of interest, on anyone’s part,” Steve replies diplomatically, and tries to nudge her off his dick before it gives her a bruise in the side. Not that he minds her on it, obviously, but it does make things difficult, and they had agreed to work around that whole aspect of this operation.

“Right.” Natasha thumbs her bra strap back up over her shoulder before breasts can start tumbling out and making life even more complicated. “We’re working. It’d be highly unprofessional.”

“And this is your idea of professional?” Bucky raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you suggesting that it’s not?” Of course Natasha has to settle herself more firmly on Steve’s groin as she says it. Of course he’s going to have to pretty much span her bare middle with his hands to move her. All that soft, taut skin.. _no_. 

“It’s pretty professional all right. Just not for _your profession_.” Bucky deadpans.

Natasha bounces on Steve with uncontained glee. “Oh, my god. James just _made a joke_ , Steve.” She rolls off him. “You need to quit poking me with that thing.”

“Sorry.”

But Bucky isn’t finished asking questions. “So -” he trails off while he stabs a couple of pieces of food with a chopstick and holds them in the air as though it helps him think. He looks at Steve. “Then, are _we_...did we...” He gestures with the chopstick between the two of them. “Because it sort of seems like…” His face falls a little, as though his brain can’t crawl through the maze that is keeping him from the words he wants. “None of this makes sense.”

Natasha gets up. “I think I’m going to go take a shower.”

Steve startles. “What..why?”

She pats him. “Because I need one - I got watermelon juice all over me. And you two should talk.” With graceful unconcern, she drops both her bra and panties as she walks to the bathroom.

Her enthusiastic, off-key rendition of “Jungle Boogie” projects over the sounds of the shower. When Steve finally looks back at Bucky, he realizes Bucky has been staring at him. Bucky’s lips curl a little. “So what now?” Muscles shift under his skin. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Steve swallows. “I agreed...with Natasha...I wasn’t going to talk to you about stuff from the past. It was a _really_ long time ago, and -”

“You and me. We were friends.”

Steve nods. He wants to say _still are_ , but he knows that in their current roles that would be stupid. 

“You thought I was dead.”

Another nod. “Yeah.” He looks at Bucky and feels that pressure behind his eyes again, that ache in his throat. “I never would have left you. Never.”

As he watches, Bucky’s jaw works and his eyes redden. Steve remembers, dimly, something Fury had said about “shared emotional experience.” Whatever he’s feeling, Bucky feels it too.

Finally Bucky looks away. “This is so weird.” He clears his throat and jerks his head towards the door between the suites. “So. Your boss is listening, right? This room’s buggier than Shanghai in monsoon season.”

“Yeah, I figured you could tell. And yeah, he’s listening.” Steve shrugs. “I’m actually surprised he hasn’t come in here yet.” He ticks off the things likely to piss off Fury on his fingers. “We let you out of the restraints. There was a razor, silverware, chopsticks, blunt objects, any number of of things that can be used as weapons - “

“We’re all pretty stoned.”

Natasha goes for a high note that makes them both cringe, and then they’re smiling at each other, sheepish and awkward. Steve is even more intensely aware of the casual half-staff erection that hasn’t gone away since they got out of the shower, and he feels the hot prickle of a blush again. This time, Bucky’s expression takes on a specific, _interested_ look. Steve’s seen it before, but not for a very, very long time. And never for _him_.

“What’re you so scared of?” Bucky’s voice is challenging, and he leans back against the headboard of the bed. “You wanted to kiss me before. Why don’t you do it now, before she hits another sour note in there and totally kills the mood?”

Steve might question this if he weren’t completely under the influence, but as it is he just goes for it. He crawls onto the bed next to Bucky, whose eyes get huge. “What, you expected me not to?” Steve says.

“No, you’re just -” Bucky replies, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

It’s impossible to resist. Steve reaches out and takes Bucky’s face in his hands. He kisses him, as careful as he’s been the entire evening, trying to anticipate the moment when Bucky will tell him no.

By the time he feels Bucky’s lips part for his tongue, he realizes that _no_ is not going to happen. Steve’s brain goes into overdrive, remembering times he’s watched Bucky kiss girls, times he tried to imagine what that would feel like. He pulls away with an abrupt thought. “I need practice, don’t I?”

Bucky’s mouth is wet with spit, Steve’s spit. “What the - “ He grabs Steve and reels him back in. “If you do, this is how you get it, you dope.” He puts Steve a little off balance and their teeth click together before they manage to fit their lips together again. 

They’re making out on the bed when Natasha’s voice makes them both jump about a foot in the air and scramble off each other. “Oh. Well I figured you two would be getting along better by the time I got out, but this is a surprise,” she says matter-of-factly as she exits the bathroom and they both jump, because she’s wicked stealthy when she wants to be. She hasn’t belted the plush hotel bathrobe very well, because it falls open, exposing a long expanse of damp, heat-pink skin.

Steve belatedly realizes that he hasn’t taken a breath for a minute or two, and does so. His breathing is super noisy in the quiet room, the only other sound the soft plat of Natasha’s hair dripping on the carpet. He almost wishes he had his sketchpad, because the line of her is gorgeous, the way she has her knee tilted slightly outward, the way the edges of the robe rest against the round sides of her breasts, the dip of her collarbone and long column of her throat.

Bucky watches her as well - his face, for the first time since Steve saw it again those months ago, is completely unguarded. Open. There’s a slight furrow to his brow inscribed from what must have been endless hours of stress and trauma, but other than that he looks 17 again. Smooth jaw, smirky mouth, long eyelashes. The strands of hair that hang around his face move with his breathing. 

Bucky’s eyes travel the length of Natasha’s body again, and stop at her stomach. Not a bad place to stop, by any means, although Steve doesn’t expect him to sit up and move towards her quite so quickly. He moves too, in case he has to...do something. Not that Natasha probably couldn’t fend Bucky off if she had to.

Bucky’s fingers trace the raised scar just above her left hipbone. He looks up at her, and a vast change comes over his expression. “Oh.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “It’s okay. It was nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” He leans forward, lips open, and nuzzles against the scar. Natasha’s hands come to rest on his head, and Steve can see her trying to control her breathing. 

“This drug.” Bucky is murmuring against her skin, he sounds slurry and drunk. “Everything feels like...sharp is sharper, soft is softer. I can hear my freakin’ blood.” He dips his nose into her bellybutton and inhales. “I can smell you.” He reaches one hand back and grabs Steve, pulling him to the edge of the bed so they can kiss again.

Natasha is still standing before them, and Steve puts out a hand, grasps her hip and pulls her closer. Her skin is fever hot.

“Oh, wow.” Natasha puts a hand over her face for a moment. And then she gasps and grabs Steve’s shoulder as Bucky gets down on his knees. Her body jolts a little as he mouths between her legs.

She tangles one hand in his hair, and the other hand flaps out to the side. Steve is up and behind her, helping hold her up before he can even think.

“You okay?” he whispers, surprised by the rough sound of his voice. 

“Yeah,” she replies, fingers twining with his. “I just - don’t let me fall over. This is -”

“I know.” Steve wraps one arm around her, and when she feels him take some of her weight she lifts one leg to Bucky’s shoulder. He grabs her thigh and licks her harder. He does something that makes Natasha jerk and push her head back against Steve. 

“Oh, god. James.” Natasha’s voice is desperate. “Fuck, that feels -” she arches, and Bucky responds with something that Steve can feel, the way it moves her body from deep inside.

He looks down, and Bucky’s eyes meet his as he fingers Natasha. Steve’s mouth goes dry as he presses it against Natasha’s neck, feels her pulse hammering against his lips. He can feel the thrusts of Bucky’s fingers as they push Natasha’s hips against him, feel the clench of her stomach muscles underneath his hand. 

Bucky’s lips are swollen, his mouth shiny from Natasha. Steve reaches down and swipes his fingers across Bucky’s lips, and Bucky catches him quick between teeth and tongue, sucks Steve’s forefinger into his mouth for a few seconds before letting him go and bending to give Natasha head again. She’s so wet that Steve can hear it.

Steve holds her tighter, and she grabs Bucky’s hair harder, grinding against his face and hand while she moans and shudders through her orgasm.

Her legs don’t want to work afterward. Steve catches her in time to lower her to the bed. He’s completely on autopilot and all he wants is more of what just happened, because just watching them is better than having all the sex he hasn’t been having. Almost.

Bucky is just as unsteady as he lets Steve pull him up, and his hand is slick with Natasha’s come. Steve pulls him flush against his body and whispers in his ear, “She’s not done, and I don’t think you are either.”

He feels Bucky’s teeth graze his neck. “Probably not. What’re you gonna do about it?” Steve doesn’t answer right away, so Bucky pulls Steve down to kiss him. 

Bucky’s mouth tastes slick and salty. Steve pushes him down on the bed, slots him in between them so Natasha can climb on top of him. She grabs Steve’s hair, pulls him and Bucky apart so she can kiss Steve. She’s even more aggressive and insistent than Bucky was, and Steve’s starting to really get into the subtle differences between two people with really fantastic lips when she shoves him back at Bucky again.

She ends up straddling Bucky, and Steve pauses in stroking Bucky’s dick so she can sink down on it. She grabs whoever is closer for leverage - Steve’s shoulder, Bucky’s chest, whatever she can get her hands on and rides Bucky so hard the bed creaks. She comes again, and then Bucky does, with Steve whispering in his ear. When Bucky recovers, Natasha disengages and lets him roll towards Steve. He mouths a wet trail down Steve’s chest and stomach until he takes Steve in his mouth and sucks him off better than Steve has ever imagined in his life. 

Natasha takes on spotter duties this time, wrapping her fingers around the thick girth of Steve’s dick so that Bucky doesn’t gag himself too badly. She trades off with him even, because Bucky’s jaw gets sore and Steve wants to kiss him some more anyhow. Everything sizzles and flows together like bubbles sinking in honey, until Steve’s unsure of where his flesh ends and theirs begins. When he comes, he’s shaking and moaning Bucky’s name and digging his fingers into the lush curve of Natasha’s inner thigh.

“Well, that’s going to leave a mark.” Her wry tone is the first thing he can really hear when the roaring of his own blood in his ears stops. 

“Sorry. You were just really...soft.” Steve blurts. He lifts his head and sees Bucky still kneeling between his legs, sweaty and flushed and rubbing his eye. And he realizes…

“Oh. Sorry! That has to hurt. I didn’t mean to - you know I should’ve warned you.”

“Nope, my fault. Thought I could swallow all of it. Shouldn’t have pulled off.” Bucky, in spite of one very red, swollen eye, has a goofy grin on his face. “It was worth it.” He pushes the hair out of his face. “I figure you can make it up to me, if you really want to.”

Steve looks down. Bucky’s still hard. For that matter, so is he.

Natasha comes back to the bed with the ice bucket and a towel and takes in the scene. “Okay, then,” she says as she flops down. “You two kick off round two without me. I’m just going to watch while I ice my leg.”

“I said I was sorry!”

She leans over and kisses Steve on the nose. “You can make it up to me, after you’re done making it up to him.” One last item drops out of the towel she was carrying. 

Lube.

Bucky grins, and then pulls Steve down on top of him again.

*

“Rogers. Cap.” 

Steve can hear words, he just can’t do anything about it. Then, as he’s trying to make his brain cooperate, the entire Arctic Ocean crashes over his head. 

“Shit, goddammit!” He’s on his ass on the floor next to the bed before he even realizes he launched himself out of it. 

Nick Fury is standing there holding the empty ice bucket, wearing an unreadable expression.

Steve scrambles back up. His mouth is a desert made of quilt batting. His head is the inside of the Liberty Bell and someone is banging on it with Mjolnir. Everything hurts.

He’s alone in the bed, or he was. He stands up, still naked. “Did we lose him?”

Fury points towards the open door. Steve grabs a sheet and wraps it around himself as he walks.

Natasha sits on the couch. She’s dressed, but she looks like several miles of bad road - bloodshot eyes, pale skin, face marred with stubble-burn and neck adorned with a couple of really impressive hickeys. As Steve opens his mouth to ask, she holds out a cup of black coffee.

To Bucky. Who is seated at the other end of the couch, and also has hickeys. His eyes are rimmed with shadows, and the right eye is still red and swollen. He takes a couple of swallows of coffee. “I could be wrong, but I think your boss is kinda pissed at you,” Bucky shrugs. 

Steve turns to stare at Fury, who closes the door to the bedroom like it’s an unsecured crime scene. 

“You were listening.” The full horror of this realization will probably occur to Steve later.

“Heard the whole thing. All eight and a half hours of it.” Fury draws the words out. “I have never wanted to retire more than I do at this very moment.”

*

Nick Fury does not retire.

Natasha Romanoff ends up writing the official mission report.

Steve Rogers never does drugs again.

Bucky Barnes goes with them.

 

 _The End_.


End file.
